River of dreams
I took this photo yesterday, a crisp but bitterly cold January morning. Walking along by the river, I thought about a comment someone had left on my blog, about how he was in the habit of getting wet in lakes or rivers whenever he felt like it, and how I should just do the same. Obviously he’d never been to Musselburgh. If I’d gone in the river yesterday I don’t think I’d have made it back to the car without freezing solid. But it seems that the idea stayed in my subconscious. Let me tell you about the dream I had last night, which I promise is 100% true and not made up for click bait…
In the dream, Gabi and I were out walking. It was a cold, crisp winter’s day and we were walking near a river. Not the same one in the photo from yesterday, although it might have been further downstream, but it doesn’t matter. A similar river, but a lot deeper. And it didn’t have a solid stone bridge across it like the one in the photo, it had a rather rickety, dangerous looking one that looked like it had been thrown up in a hurry, with gaps between the steps and a slippery surface. Proper health and safety nightmare.
But, because it was a dream, there was also a kind of floating walkway that went across the river. On the walkway was a man, a smart looking man, maybe in his mid-30s, well groomed, with dark hair and a neat little beard, wearing a smart suit and a long black woollen overcoat. As we watched, he lowered himself over the edge of the walkway and into the water without a ripple, fully dressed, disappearing under the surface as if this was a perfectly natural occurrence.
Gabi and I looked on in alarm, expecting him to resurface, but he didn’t. In such cold water and wearing such heavy clothes, I was beginning to wonder if we should attempt some kind of rescue, but finally he reappeared a short way downstream, in the shallows at the edge of the river under another bridge1 where his girlfriend was looking on anxiously. It transpired – and don’t ask me how I know this, because I can’t tell you anything more than “it was a dream” – that he’d entered into some kind of bet that he wouldn’t go in the water fully clothed, and because he’d done it, that meant his girlfriend had to follow suit. She was incredibly reluctant, but he managed to wrestle her partway into the river, soaking her black leggings and leather boots.
By this time the walkway had changed back into the rickety bridge again. I turned to Gabi to offer my opinion that if the girlfriend didn’t want to get into the freezing cold water she shouldn’t have offered the bet, but Gabi wasn’t there. Inspired by what she’d seen, Gabi had decided she was going in the water too. She waded into the shallows, the water lapping around her light brown leather boots, and suddenly threw herself forward, going right under into the deep water in the middle of the river.
She didn’t stay in long. With a shriek, she came running out of the water and up the steps of the bridge to meet me at the top, torrents of cold river water pouring out of her clothes. We were dressed for a cold day and she hadn’t taken anything off before plunging in, so she was now enveloped in freezing, heavy, drenched clothes: a long, grey duffle coat, beige polo neck sweater, denim mini skirt, grey woollen tights and of course her brown knee-length boots2. “I’M SO COLD!” she squealed and wrapped herself around me for warmth.
I hugged her back, secure in the knowledge that I wasn’t going to get as wet as she was. Then – and I know it sounds like I’m making this up, but I swear I’m not – Gabi started kissing me. Proper, passionate kisses, pressing her soaking wet body against me as she would a lover. I woke up at that point, quite aroused and very confused.
So… I don’t know what to make of that. I mean, I’ve never thought of Gabi as anything but a really good friend, so why my brain suddenly decided to have her throw herself at me, I couldn’t say. But then I remembered last Saturday when we ended up in the bath together, and how she looked at me and said “How could anyone resist you looking like that?” Did the sight of me in wet clothes turn her on? I don’t know. Did the sight of her in wet clothes turn me on? You bet it did. I’ve only ever been in relationships with guys and I wouldn’t consider myself bisexual per se, but I can’t deny that a beautiful woman in wet clothes does turn me on, so… I don’t know. I recently signed up to a website that asked me for my sexual orientation, and I decided “Heteroflexible” was the closest I could get.
Maybe my brain’s just been overloaded with conflicting emotions in the past couple of weeks, but I really don’t know what’s going on anymore. Am I attracted to Gabi? Is she attracted to me? Do I want her to be attracted to me? Who knows? I think the best course of action is to play things cool, as usual, and try to avoid any brain lunges…